


Five Times Arthur Surprised Eames, and One Time He Didn't (or, Countdown to Love)

by keilson



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Puppies, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-02
Updated: 2010-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-11 10:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keilson/pseuds/keilson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a long process, getting to know Arthur. Eames thinks it's worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Arthur Surprised Eames, and One Time He Didn't (or, Countdown to Love)

> **5\. **
> 
> Arthur has a dog. This shouldn't be surprising, but it is. Eames crouches and drags his fingers through the puppy's thick fur.
> 
> "I thought you didn't like dogs?" he asks, pushing his thumbs into the corner of the dog's mouth and pulling. It grins at him obscenely, purple tongue slipping out between its teeth. Eames snorts, looking over to Arthur as he hangs his coat in the closet. "You got bitten as a child, or something, right?"
> 
> Arthur shrugs one shoulder, patting down the coat as though leather could wrinkle. "I was lying. You don't think I'd really tell a mark my deepest secrets, do you?"
> 
> Eames doesn't, but he'd hoped that Arthur would correct his team's assumptions later. Maybe he had. Maybe he'd just forgotten Eames. He frowns at Arthur's back as the other man steps into the kitchen. "Of course not," he calls, standing with knees that don't yet crack, "because that would be unprofessional, wouldn't it?"
> 
> He almost smiles at Arthur's furrowed brow when he pokes his head around the corner. "Well, yes," Arthur drawls out, "but it would also be stupid. I'd take being smart over being professional any day, Mr. Eames." Then Arthur leans further into the hallway, brushing his thumb against his index and middle fingers, and makes a clucking sound behind his teeth.
> 
> The dog, which had settled into the (surprisingly plush) carpet by the front door, thumps his tail loudly, then races past Eames to nose at Arthur's thigh. Eames bites his lip, hard, to fight the impossibly large grin threatening to spread across his face. It doesn't quite work, because Arthur sniffs loudly, and turns to feed his dog.
> 
> "So does your puppy have a name, or do you just call him Dog?" Eames saunters to the kitchen table, and pulls one of the chairs out. He settles on it backwards, arms folded on the back, and rests his chin on his hands.
> 
> Arthur takes his time before answering, opening a can, pouring it into a bowl. He wrinkles his nose at the smell, and he doesn't try to get out any bits of food that are stuck inside. Finally, when he places the bowl on the floor, running his fingers over one of the dog's ears, he turns to Eames. "Tom," he says, simply.
> 
> Eames feels a sudden, unexplainable rush of warmth. He attributes it to the fact that even Arthur could have a normal name for his normal dog, in their extraordinary world.
> 
>   
> **4\. **
> 
> Eames has only known Arthur for six months, but he's never seen him out of a suit. He's beginning to think that he doesn't own anything that cost less than half a paycheck, that it's likely that he wouldn't wear a t-shirt if it were the only piece of clothing in his closet.
> 
> So, understandably, he gawks a little when he walks into the hotel room Cobb directed him to and finds Arthur sprawled on the bed, arms above his head, threadbare black shirt pulled above his hips, jean-clad legs flung over the side. He was tapping his foot softly, but pushes himself up on his elbows when Eames raps lightly on the open bedroom door.
> 
> "You're early," Arthurs says crisply, at odds with the sleepy look on his face. He blinks, and his eyes stay at half-mast.
> 
> "I," Eames starts, and then swallows hard. His eyes can't decide where to focus, sliding from Arthur's dishevelled hair to his neck to his bare hip, and then back up to his lips, slightly chapped. Arthur raises an eyebrow.
> 
> "You what? You weren't supposed to be here for another hour, at least."
> 
> Eames pulls himself together roughly, with a shake of his head, and smirks. "I've got us some good information. You're going to love it."
> 
> Arthur hauls himself off the bed with visible effort and walks over to Eames, running his fingers through his hair absently. He stops a foot away, giving him a searing look.
> 
> "Tell me about it."
> 
>   
> **3\. **
> 
> He doesn't see Arthur until three weeks after Mal's death. He's spent two and a half of those weeks keeping Cobb from doing something stupid, like dreaming until he forgets reality, or jumping in front of a train. Eames won't take a job unless Cobb takes it with him (because he can't let Cobb out of his sight, now) and Cobb won't take a job because he's so fucked up in the head he won't even consider entering someone else's dream.
> 
> Eames is going crazy. He's gone back to picking pockets as they walk through the market, the smell of ripe meat high in the air. He tries to be as obvious as he can; he's spoiling for a fight. It's a testament to his skill, an irritation he never thought he'd feel, when he can't even get a Japanese businessman to look his way when he practically gropes his ass. He spits in disgust and turns to toss the wallet, and there he is.
> 
> Ten feet away, Arthur is grimfaced and drawn, suit looser than he'd ever seen it. "Do you want to get Dom killed?" he asks Eames, tightly. Eames narrows his eyes. His fight is finally here, and he'll be damned if he lets it pass.
> 
> "He's doing a bloody good job of that himself," he grunts, stepping forward until he's right in Arthur's space. "He's so fucking obvious, if I weren't here he would already be with Mal." He sneers as he says it, enjoys the way Arthur's eyes flash and his shoulders tense.
> 
> Arthur exhales hard in his face, breath hot and rough, but he doesn't rise to the bait. "You're a fucking asshole," he says. "Do you think you're the only one hurting?"
> 
> Eames reaches up and grabs Arthur's delicate chin between his fingers, feels his jaw clench. He squeezes hard enough to bruise, and Arthur lets him, looking hurt and very, very angry. Eames snarls wordlessly. "I think I'm the only one that's been babysitting," he growls.
> 
> Arthur grabs his wrist tightly and pulls him off, digging his nails into the thin skin over veins. "I should have known you'd be so selfish, Mr. Eames." His lips curl, brows drawing together when Eames opens his mouth to retort. "No, don't you interrupt me. Maybe you don't know, maybe you haven't noticed, but I've been cleaning up your mess." He looks around, eyes flitting over people behind Eames, people he can't see. "You should be rotting in jail right now, especially after what you did in Egypt, but you aren't. Care to take a guess why?"
> 
> Eames relaxes slowly, and Arthur lets his arm fall. His and Cobb's relative ease at fleeing from country to country suddenly makes a lot more sense, now that he realizes Arthur was two feet behind them the whole time. The fight drains out of him.
> 
> "Why would you do that?" he asks. Arthur doesn't quite meet his eyes, and steps back several feet. Just before he disappears into the crowd he gives Eames a searching look, and nods.
> 
> "Somebody has to take care of Cobb when I'm not able."
> 
> And then he's gone, and Cobb is at his elbow, tugging him back to the hotel.
> 
>   
> **2\. **
> 
> After the Fischer job, Eames thinks things could only get better from there. He was wrong.
> 
> It was very rare for him to fuck up, especially when he was forging, but it happened. On the rare occasions he'd fucked up enough to need rescuing, he'd always had a team there with him, ready to fire a bullet straight through his forehead.
> 
> This had been a two man job, though, and Arthur was Above, making sure their mark's guards didn't manage to kill them in reality.
> 
> As it stood, he could only wish for death to release him from the dream. They'd been careless, satisfied enough with the mark's surface perversions. He hadn't counted on the seemingly mild-mannered detective zeroing in on Eames with an intensity that was frankly disturbing in its lack of sexual desire.
> 
> The plan had been centered on their man wanting to bone Eames because he was a tiny little girl, with a pretty pink dress and bouncing pigtails. They hadn't expected him to claim his targets in another way entirely.
> 
> Eames shifted heavily, pulling futilely at the chains holding his arms high above his head. They scraped loudly against the concrete at his back, and he winced. Arthur had been right about one thing: between Eames' flawless transformation and Arthur's dreamscape (both controlled by Eames, which was another mistake, he should never have suggested that), Jefferson hadn't even begun to realize that he was only one level deep in a dream.
> 
> Unfortunately, that meant that the precautions he took to keep Eames at his mercy would remove his hands from his arms should he change back, and while that would be _really fucking painful_, it probably wouldn't kill him nearly fast enough.
> 
> That left him one choice: try to finish the job to the best of his abilities.
> 
> Eames wasn't affected by a lot, but he'd always had a soft spot for children. It was why he'd taken the job, offered by a stonefaced Arthur, on the request of a nameless client. It was unspoken between them; they never discussed how the client seemed to follow Arthur's exact linguistic patterns in his letters. Eames couldn't blame him for commissioning it himself; once he'd realized exactly what Arthur wanted done, it wouldn't matter if their client was Mr. Saito or his father: he would do it.
> 
> Jefferson wasn't a very creative man. Eames was able to sink into himself, crying out when he was in pain and biting his lip when he wasn't, and nothing the man did to him hurt more than in other dreams. Physically, at least. Emotionally, he was wrecked. That this man could do this on a regular basis, to children who weren't Eames...
> 
> It was a relief when he felt the dream shift, the safe in the corner suddenly full of exactly what they needed to know. He looked at it blankly, considering. The slap took him by surprise, and it was then, as he spat blood out of his ruined mouth, that Arthur kicked in the door.
> 
> He only had a second to stare, wide-eyed, at the other man, before a bullet missed its mark and slammed into his throat.
> 
> He woke up dry-heaving, but didn't have a moment to waste. The dream would be collapsing under Arthur's feet, and Jefferson could wake at any moment. He tugged his gun from his pants and stood over the mark, safety off.
> 
> Arthur groaned loudly, and scrambled up from the floor behind Eames. "I've got it. Do it, Eames."
> 
> He pulls the trigger.
> 
>   
> **1.**
> 
> "Eames, what is this?" Arthur leans in the doorway, eyeing him warily.
> 
> "It's a puppy, Arthur. I should think you'd be able to tell." Eames shifts the sleeping dog in his arms, and nearly drops his bags. "Can you be a darling and let me in?"
> 
> Arthur rolls his eyes, but backs up and holds the door open. Tom runs a circle around his legs twice, then trots beside him as he walks into the living room.
> 
> Arthur takes the bags from him and sets them on the coffee table, and then turns to Eames. He folds his arms across his chest, looking entirely unamused. "If that thing pisses on my carpet, you're buying me a new one."
> 
> Eames laughs lowly against the puppy's short fur. It snuffles and wakes up, wiggling to be let down. "A new carpet?"
> 
> "A new dog." Eames looks up in time to see Arthur mouth the word _jerkoff_ at him, and meets Arthur's smirk with one of his own. By now, Tom has realized he has company and is thoroughly engrossed in sniffing his new companion's arse.
> 
> "Does this dog have a name?" Arthur asks him, crouching down to pet the square head. When the puppy turns its back to him, he tugs on the short, ropelike tail. Eames feels a strange moment of deja vu that has him fingering the chip in his pocket in an instant.
> 
> He shakes his head at Arthur's sudden concerned look, and grins crookedly. "Didn't come with a name. Dogs off the street usually don't, you know?" He waits for Arthur's nod, and continues. "I think he looks like a Joe, though."
> 
> Arthur snorts in amusement, tugging on Joe's ears with both hands. "Tom and Joe? Sounds like a cartoon."
> 
> "Like you watch cartoons," Eames shoots back automatically, dropping to his knees. They pop at the movement, and he bites his lip.
> 
> "You're getting old," Arthur mutters, shooting him a sidelong glance, and Eames flips him off. Mortality isn't something he wants to think about. It's bad enough already, the urge to sink into his dreams and never leave. What will it be like when they're bedridden and senile?
> 
> He changes the subject, reaching out to pet Joe himself. His fingers brush up against Arthur's on every other stroke, but neither of them stop. "I thought Tom needed a friend, you know, while you're at work."
> 
> Arthur stills, eyes going slightly unfocused. "How very thoughtful of you."
> 
> Eames realizes they're talking about something else entirely now, something that has nothing to do with Arthur's dogs. He turns to face him, running his fingers down Arthur's wrist before pulling his hand back to himself. "He looked lonely," he murmers.
> 
> Arthur looks up at him through his lashes, something resembling wonder crossing his face. "Maybe he'll be happier now. Thank you, Mr. Eames."
> 
>   
> **0\. **
> 
> On the one year anniversary of the dissolution of Fischer &amp; Browning, Saito calls them all back to Tokyo to celebrate. They stay in one of his hotels; he offered to give them a floor each, but Cobb looks at Ariadne looks at Yusuf looks at Arthur, who raises an eyebrow at Eames, and they all end up on the top floor. The view is fantastic, and Eames is flying high. He stands on the roof, a glass of wine in his hands, and thinks that he feels truly hopeful for the first time since he entered college.
> 
> "Wine doesn't suit you, Eames," Arthur murmurs. The wind nearly rips the words from between them, and Arthur leans next to Eames with his back to the railing. He tips his head back. Eames wonders what he sees. A world upside down, dreamlike? Or a world that fails to bend at his will and feels less real with every dream he fakes?
> 
> He sets his glass carefully on the rail, reaching to tangle his fingers with Arthur's. "I think we've waited long enough, don't you, love?" he asks, watching the line of Arthur's throat as he swallows.
> 
> "I'd have to agree with you, Mr. Eames," Arthur tells the horizon, a wide smile dimpling his cheeks. He turns to look at Eames, and it becomes a Moment. Eames feels his breath catch, not because Arthur is smiling, but because it brings to mind how rarely he actually does.
> 
> He smiles back, and tugs Arthur flush against him. "I knew you'd see it my way," he says, burying his face in Arthur's neck.
> 
> "You know me too well," Arthur replies, voice fond, and Eames melts.
> 
> "Yeah," he says gruffly, because what else is there to say? It's the truth.
> 
>   
> 

**Author's Note:**

> • My first (real) Inception fic! I wanted to write a serious one, and so I asked my beta for a prompt. She gave me "puppies," and this spiraled out of my control after the first scene.   
> • Oh my god, schmoop. I always say I'm so bad at that, but then I write something like this and I can't take myself seriously anymore.   
> • This took a surprisingly long time. Over 24 hours! I stopped writing three seperate times, haha.   
> • I love this pairing now. I wasn't certain on it before, but when I was cleaning and still devising plot for them? I knew I was screwed. :'D  
> • It's really not in the proper 5 +1 format, but... I don't really care. I like it like this. I'm pleased.


End file.
